


I Still Recall The Thrill

by dollsome



Category: The Durrells (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-20
Updated: 2019-10-20
Packaged: 2020-12-27 01:17:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21110306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dollsome/pseuds/dollsome
Summary: Sequel to A Rhapsody Divine. Louisa and Spiros pretend to be in love a little longer (and are actually in love a lot longer than that).





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> I intended to just write a little coda and attach it to [A Rhapsody Divine](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21004343), but then this decided to get all out of hand and weirdly contemplative! I apologize in advance for the structural mess that is this, for it hath gone off the gosh darn rails; I can only say that where my fangirl heart led, I followed.

_ I still recall the thrill, guess I always will _   
_ I hope 'twill never depart _   
_ Dear, with your lips to mine, a rhapsody divine _   
_ Zing! Went the strings of my heart._

* * *

True to her word, Callista comes back a few days later to see the animals, her family in tow. The visit transforms an otherwise lazy Saturday into a flurry of activity. Gerry is in his element with a captive audience, leading them from one enclosure to the next and speaking in a professorial tone that’s a bit reminiscent of Larry. The sight of him so sure and grown up makes Louisa feel a little weepy.

Speaking of grown up: Daphne and Leslie sit in the sun nearby, making fond faces at each other and holding hands and generally being sickeningly sweet. Callista, who Louisa gleans from conversation used to watch Daphne when Daphne was little, coos over her round belly.

Larry is writing down by the water, so that prevents any troublesome romantic connections from occurring. Then again, she thinks he would probably be far less interested in the cheerful, child-wrangling woman that’s shown up today than the seductress of a few days ago.

“I can’t believe you called that nice lady a vixen,” Leslie says accusingly to Louisa when he passes her to get Daphne some refreshments from inside.

“She was!” Louisa says.

Leslie frowns. “I think your repressed feelings for Spiros might be addling your wits.”

“That’s almost certainly true,” Louisa retorts, “but it’s not relevant to this particular situation.”

Leslie gives her a look of tragic pity.

“I’m joking!” she adds.

Leslie shakes his head, then goes into the house.

“I’m not the one who got a girl pregnant out of wedlock,” Louisa mutters under her breath. “How am _ I _the disappointment?”

Really, though, it’s wonderful to see him so happy with Daphne. Better than she dared hope. Things really can work out sometimes, no matter how bleak the circumstances might seem at first.

She tries not to take that one too much to heart. The second Spiros walks over to her, she fails spectacularly.

“A beautiful day, hmm?” he greets her.

She smiles at him. “Especially now.”

“You’re too nice to me.”

“No such thing.”

He settles in next to her. She tries not to look too pleased about it.

“We should stick close together,” Spiros suggests, lowering his voice. “To be convincing.”

“You’ve got a gift for deception, Spiros.”

His answering smile fills her from head to toe with butterflies.

The butterflies all drop dead at the arrival of her daughter.

“Here you are.” Margo stops in front of them.

Then she doesn’t say anything else. Just stares with an unsettlingly amused glint in her eyes.

“Aren’t you supposed to be meeting Zoltan?” Louisa reminds her once an agonizing number of seconds have passed.

“Yes,” Margo says, “but I’m quite used to him, and this here seems like it might be something new and interesting.”

“Nonsense,” says Louisa. “Callista will hardly pay attention to us when she’s got all the marvels of the animal kingdom to enjoy. See, her nephew is trying to lick the pelican. She’ll have to put a stop to that.”

“Still,” Margo says, “just to be safe, you should probably do some kissing.”

Not for the first time in her life, Louisa thinks longingly of filicide.

“Go!” she urges, waving her hands.

“And Zoltan,” says Spiros, heroically ignoring the part about kissing, “he still treats you right?”

“Yes,” Margo says, doing a happy impression of a put-upon teenager. “Really, Spiros, you needn’t be so _ protective _.”

She flashes a significant look at Louisa on that last word – a look that Louisa hopes isn’t too transparent in saying ‘My mother swoons over your protective nature regularly’ – then flounces away.

Louisa tries to stand casually with Spiros and pretend that there were no recent mentions of kissing. The seconds stretch themselves into hours.

It’s no good.

“I’d better go see how they’re doing,” she says, nodding at the crowd around Gerry.

“I left something in the car,” Spiros says at the same time.

They dart away from each other.

“Well, at least that wasn’t completely ridiculous,” Louisa grumbles. She puts on a bright smile once she reaches Callista, Gerry, and the children. “Enjoying yourselves?”

The children nod enthusiastically, but they don’t pay her much mind. Gerry is the foremost source of fascination.

“And you?” Louisa asks, moving over to Callista while Gerry starts talking about all the ways that insects are fascinating and much-maligned.

Callista looks up from the flamingo pen. “You have a remarkable collection. Your son is a strange genius, I think.”

“Agreed.”

“And what is your man doing?”

“Oh, you know,” Louisa says. “Car things.”

Callista glances over at him.

Louisa is filled with the sudden fear that maybe the offer to duel for him will flare up again. Spiros _ does _look very handsome standing by the car and trying to project an air of casual purpose. Even if he is failing, bless him.

But when Callista looks back at her, the vixenish tint hasn’t returned to her eyes. Instead, she says, “Take good care of him. He has earned it.” 

“Was it so awful between him and his wife?” asks Louisa, desperate with curiosity in spite of herself.

Callista shrugs. “They married because they had to. Sometimes they got along for a little while, but they always started arguing again. Both good people, but not good for each other. That’s why he was always driving around the island instead of sitting at home.”

“It breaks my heart to think about,” Louisa says, looking at Spiros. He’s moved on to laughing with Leslie and Daphne. “Before I lost my husband, my marriage was so happy. We were the best of friends.”

“That’s why you still wear your ring.”

“Oh.” Louisa looks down at her hand. “Yes.”

The game is surely up now. Who wears an old wedding ring in the middle of a passionate love affair?

But Callista only says, “It’s sweet.”

Louisa presses a fingertip to the familiar gold band. “I think everybody deserves to have that kind of happiness in love.”

“Well, he will have it now.”

“Yes,” Louisa says after a moment, hoping her sudden melancholy doesn’t show. “Yes, I suppose he will.”

Callista stares at her thoughtfully. Seeing the melancholy, perhaps, and beginning to figure out that she’s been duped--

Then she turns to her nephew and snaps, “Ai!”, followed by a lot of rapid Greek.

Louisa tries not to flinch.

“What is that you just said?” she asks delicately once Callista turns back.

“Stop trying to lick the big bird,” Callista translates.

“Right,” says Louisa. “I’ll have to memorize that one. Something tells me it will come in handy here again.”

Callista stares at her, inscrutable. “You live a very odd life.”

“Don’t I know it.”

“But nice,” Callista finishes. Before she can say anything else -- if, indeed, she meant to -- her attention is dragged away by the children, who tug at her dress, about to boil over with fascinating new information to share.

Louisa takes it as her cue to duck away. Spiros has given up pretending to look for something in the car and returned to the spot in the shade where they were standing together. Louisa is glad to join him. Fortunately, the talk of kissing has evaporated from the air, and they can talk like friends again.

Well. Friends who are pretending to be lovers but are most definitely friends.

When at last Gerry’s menagerie has been thoroughly presented -- including Roger, who receives admiring pets and compliments for a good quarter of an hour -- their visitors get ready to depart. Callista thanks Gerry for the tour with an earnest respect that makes Louisa like her more than ever, kisses Daphne and shakes hands with Leslie (who clearly will never be convinced of her vixenness after today), and even spares a head pat for Roger. 

Then she stops where Spiros and Louisa stand. Louisa sneaks a glimpse at Spiros. He looks nervous.

“I’m glad you are happy, Spiros,” Callista says, kissing the air next to his cheeks.

“Thank you,” Spiros says, surprised.

“You too, English lady,” she adds, casting a playful look Louisa’s way.

“She didn’t call me boring that time,” Louisa says, thrilled, as Callista rounds up the children. “That’s an improvement!”

Spiros looks at her the way he always does, like he can’t quite believe somebody so extraordinarily delightful exists. (Louisa is all for modesty, but how else can one describe it?)

Then he kisses her.

It’s a quick little nothing of a kiss, the sort you exchange a dozen times a day without thinking when you’re soundly in love; his lips brush the corner of her mouth for a second, light as a dream.

“She was looking back at us,” he explains quietly.

“Right,” Louisa says, her pulse thundering in her ears.

He must have kissed her like that before at some point; they’ve always been affectionate with each other. But in those days, she only thought about how lucky she was to have such a wonderful friend on the island.

Now, she thinks that if that’s the only kiss she ever gets from him, she might die of it.

Their gazing is interrupted by a sudden attack of bristles waving in their faces.

“No!” Lugaretzia snaps, brandishing the broom at them.

“It’s an elaborate deception!” Louisa hisses self-righteously. “It’s not as if we’re out here necking for the fun of it.”

Unfortunately.

“Yes,” Spiros says to back her up. “It is all very serious. No fun was had.”

Louisa very carefully doesn’t look at him.

“Control yourselves,” the unconvinced Lugaretzia orders. Then she stomps off, muttering in Greek. Louisa suspects it’s either a prayer for their immortal souls or a rant about the idiots she’s surrounded by on a daily basis. Perhaps a charming blend of both.

“Can you believe her?” Louisa says. “Telling _ us _to control ourselves.”

Spiros lets out a dark laugh. “Sometimes I think we’re too good at it.” 

“Me too,” Louisa says with a tiny sigh.

“Maybe one day,” he adds, meeting her eyes, “we won’t have to be anymore.”

She smiles wistfully.

“But now,” he adds, glancing over to Callista and her brood of relatives, “I should offer them a ride home.”

“Good man,” Louisa says, trying to cheer up.

“My curse,” he says with a forlorn smile. He bows slightly at her, then turns and walks away.

Louisa can’t help staring after him. For quite awhile, really.

Until Lugaretzia comes up beside her.

“Yes, yes, I know!” Louisa says. “Enough with the broom, thank you.”

“You can do better than him.” Lugaretzia frowns at the sight of Spiros lifting the children up into the car, making them whoop in delight.

Louisa sighs. “I really can’t, I’m afraid.” 

“He is a good man. But he is a good man with a wife.”

“Doesn’t anyone divorce in Corfu, Lugaretzia?”

“No.”

“Mightn’t they start?”

“Maybe,” Lugaretzia determines after a long, appraising stare Spiros’s way. “This once. For you.”

Louisa feels a happy glow.

“It’s more likely his wife will kill him, though,” Lugaretzia adds.

Louisa huffs at her, then goes to join Gerry and the animals.


	2. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fast forward!! In envisioning the fictionalized Durrells' futures beyond the show, I have basically just taken little bits of history I liked and blended them with the things that make my fangirl heart happiest. Accuracy has no place in my world.
> 
> I imagined this being in the same universe as [A Little Miracle](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20970137), though I think this can be read without reading that and still make sense.

She doesn’t think of Callista again until many years later. Life becomes dramatic enough without spinning elaborate webs of deception around Spiros’s old girlfriends.

But then, after holding Spiros and letting him go, after the misery of the war and the quiet gift of the world slowly healing, the opportunity for them to go back to Corfu eventually presents itself.

It isn’t easily come by. Married life with Spiros is a joy, but just like in Corfu, they’re far from the only two people in the world. There are always family kerfuffles aplenty, especially once her children marry and have children of their own and she herself gains two sons through marriage (one of whom adores her instantly while the other decides she’s Satan in the guise of an aggressively cheerful home-wrecking English lady). If Louisa had ever feared that her children growing up would bring lasting distance between them and her, well, at least that worry is put to rest.

Even once they’ve scattered beyond Bournemouth, they come in and out of her life with the regularity of English rain. When they aren’t around, they write constantly -- from quite extraordinary locations sometimes, when Larry travels the world for work or Gerry’s off chasing animals. Unfolded letters tend to cover every available surface of the house. Louisa prefers that to tucking them into envelopes; she likes the feeling of her children’s voices alive around her. Sometimes she and Spiros pick them up at random and read bits aloud to each other, sharing fond laughter at the exploits of the beloved family they’ve patched together.

Two of her children do find their way back to Bournemouth full time. Leslie works as a concierge in the town’s finest hotel -- quite happily, since it combines his love of authority and uniforms with his fondness for not being hurtled into terrible moral predicaments like having to arrest a family friend -- while Daphne looks after the children, the number of whom seem to increase with a rabbit-like frequency, though Louisa supposes they can’t be blamed for twins.

After divorcing a man she really shouldn’t have married in the first place, Margo moves in across the street and continues the family tradition of taking in lodgers. She has much more of a knack for it than Louisa ever had, since she seems to find everybody genuinely fascinating all the time. The guests are wild about her. Single men tend to leave heartbroken when their proposals are turned down, but apart from that, Margo’s boarding house is a rousing success. It helps that the boarding house lodgers have their very own taxi driver on call to escort them around the town. Spiros shares Margo’s gift for providing delightful company, and Louisa suspects that he leaves a few heartbroken lady lodgers in his wake.

(“I don’t think so,” Spiros says when Louisa suggests it. "They just see an old man. My beard is going gray.”

“And that graying beard says ‘Swoon over me.’ Haven’t you heard? Men don’t get old. They just get more attractive, while we women crumble away into dust.”

“That sounds like a sexist double standard to me.”

“You’ve been talking to Margo.”

Enlivened by divorce, Margo has been reading _ The Second Sex _ with indignant, blazing enthusiasm and telling everyone all about it. On one hand, Louisa is proud of her daughter for questioning the injustice against women at the center of society; on the other, she wishes she would just pick up something by Agatha Christie and give everyone a reprieve from righteous ranting for once. Larry expresses his great admiration of Margo’s new reading list in his letters, and Larry’s great admiration is almost always a sign that one needs to dial down whatever they’re doing.)

Margo’s two little boys Nicholas and Gerry -- called Gerry Two to avoid confusion in the family and cause confusion outside of it -- are forever scampering about, keeping their grandparents busy and generally being lovely nightmares. When they get together with Leslie and Daphne’s children, the result is positively apocalyptic, but in a way that Louisa finds quite charming and Spiros absolutely flourishes around. It’s lovely to see her grandchildren with a beloved grandfather. For so many years, she never would have dared to dream of it.

In short, family is -- just as it has always been -- the absolute center of Louisa Durrell’s universe.

But that doesn’t mean there can’t be too much of a good thing.

One day, Louisa is having a cup of tea with Margo at the boarding house. It’s one of the rare days when Daphne isn’t around: Leslie has the day off work, and they’re attempting a fun family holiday to the beach. Louisa fears for their survival only a little bit, which she thinks is a testament to just how much Leslie’s matured. Also, Daphne really is incredibly reliable.

“Do you think you could survive a few weeks without us across the road?” Louisa asks, sipping her tea.

“I want to say yes without reserve,” Margo replies, nibbling a biscuit, “but I’m afraid the universe might try to spite me. I can offer you a solid ‘Probably.’”

“That will have to do. Spiros and I have decided we’re going on our honeymoon.”

“Finally,” Margo says. “It’s been eight years.”

“As you know, the only honeymoon we’ve had prior to this one was one weekend at home after our wedding where we asked politely not to be interrupted by any family problems for two days.”

Margo winces. “Sorry about that. I swear, we tried our best.”

“Sadly, I believe you,” Louisa says.

“And at least you got a kitten out of it.”

“I’m still not entirely sure how that happened.”

“Me either. But you love Athena.”

“We do,” Louisa admits, sighing in defeat. “My point is, we’d like this honeymoon to be a tad more successful than that one.”

“Understood. So,” Margo says, her eyes dancing, “do I even need to ask where you’re going?”

“I don’t think you do,” Louisa says, smiling back.

“Oh, how wonderful to be going back!” Margo attempts to hug Louisa from across the table. It mostly ends in awkward shoulder pats, but Louisa appreciates it all the same. “I still always think of it as home, somehow.”

“Me too.” Louisa pats her daughter’s hand. “And you’re sure you’ll be all right?”

“I told you. _ Probably_.”

“Well, I’ve phoned Florence and she’s said that she can come here and help out if anything gets to be too much. I would ask Daphne, but she’s already got sixty children to look after, so I don’t think we should rely too much on her. Especially since it must sting that we get to go to her homeland and she doesn’t, after we’ve all talked for so long about doing a proper family trip.”

“Really, Mother. I don’t _ need _Daphne to get by. Or Florence, for that matter. I’m an adult woman. I have two children.”

“Right. And where are they, exactly?”

“Um,” says Margo.

As if summoned by destiny, Spiros comes inside, carrying one of her boys over each shoulder. He’ll certainly be groaning like Lugaretzia after that feat of Herculean strength.

“Guess who Granddad found outside playing Who Can Get Hit by A Car And Live?!” he reports, setting the boys down. “They were both very close to winning.”

“Really, Margo,” Louisa says, pursing her lips in disapproval as the boys run off, cackling.

“It’s not my fault!” Margo says. “There’s too much stupidity in our gene pool. I can only take so much responsibility for that. And their father’s not exactly Galileo, is he?” She sighs in exhaustion and takes a hearty swig of her tea. “I miss Daphne.” She reaches for another biscuit.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Louisa prompts.

“What?”

“Go tell them not to play Who Can Get Hit By A Car And Live,” Spiros supplies.

“Right. I knew that.” Margo gets up. “This single mother business is no day at the park.”

“Believe me,” says Louisa, “I remember.”

“I miss when they were babies and they couldn’t go anywhere. I got very used to gross things coming out of all their orifices. I’d take spit-up and feces any day over those quick little legs.” With that profound insight into parenting, she leaves the room.

Spiros lowers himself into a chair, groaning.

“I think we need a holiday,” he says gravely once he’s settled.

“Oh, yes,” says Louisa, passing her cup of tea to him.

+

A week later Louisa and Spiros say a temporary goodbye to their little house in Bournemouth, leaving Athena the cat across the street with Margo and apologizing to all their plants in advance in case Margo forgets to water them, and embark on their adventure.


	3. Three

It’s been thirteen years since Louisa last saw Corfu, and eight since Spiros did. To both of them, the changes are striking enough that they spend their first morning there mostly in silence, taking it all in. Louisa can’t get over the island’s new scars, while Spiros wonders at how they’ve healed.

It isn’t the same dreamy place that it was when she found it first. Nowhere really can be anymore.

But once the shock has worn off, it’s as if the sun comes out in Louisa’s mind to match the weather, and everything begins to glow again. Maybe a little less brightly than it did before, but all the more precious for that.

Despite the suffering that the years of war brought, many of their old friends still pop up like flowers blooming once the news hits that Spiros and Louisa are back for a visit. When the two of them aren’t wandering the town or driving a borrowed car across dusty roads, saying “Oh, remember!” and laughing as they recount old misadventures to each other, they do a lot of visiting. Lugaretzia -- still alive, though preferring to spend her time now in a chair in the coziest corner of her family’s home instead of on her feet -- weeps at the sight of them, and Louisa weeps more, and it becomes quite dire until a bright-eyed Spiros gallantly pulls a handkerchief out of his coat pocket for each of them.

(“Why did you have two handkerchiefs with you?” Louisa asks him later.

“One for you and one for me,” Spiros replies. “I held myself together for Lugaretzia’s sake.”)

It’s the perfect homecoming, save for the fact that it’s only temporary.

And then Callista sends them a note at their hotel, inviting them over for lunch.

+

“Oh, God,” Louisa says, studying herself in the hotel mirror. She cinches the sash of her silk dressing gown tighter and internally laments the death of corsets. “You know that she’s not going to look a day older than when she tried to steal you away from me, and here I am, a dowdy English grandmother. How did you ever convince me that I could pull off graying hair? I should have let Margo dye it when she offered.”

“I convinced you,” Spiros replies, plucking at the guitar he’d insisted on bringing, “because Margo wanted you to become a redhead, which would have probably turned out very bad, and because it’s true. You look beautiful.”

“For a dowdy English grandmother,” Louisa sniffs.

“For a goddess.” Spiros corrects. He plays a few romantic-sounding chords with flourish, then gets up and comes over to her. He wraps his arms around her from behind.

She leans back into the embrace, but makes a face at his reflection in the mirror. “Which goddess is that, exactly? Menopausia?”

“Aphrodite,” he says. “Obviously.”

She rolls her eyes at him. “I told you you need to have your eyes checked. This cements it. When we get back home, you’re going to the optometrist. You drive for a living, for goodness sake.”

“She invited us because she likes us and she wants to see us. She won’t be paying attention to how you look.”

“You understand nothing about the intricate, passive-aggressive battles between women.”

“That’s not true,” he protests. “I’ve watched you and Dimitra since, what, 1939?”

“Maybe you understand a little,” Louisa relents. “But Dimitra is happily married again to a man she adores. She doesn’t give a damn about you.”

“Thank you, my love.”

“Oh, you know what I mean. I’m the woman you chose over Callista, who -- according to Lugaretzia -- still hasn’t married. That’s entirely different. And requires good hair. And a dress far prettier than anything I’ve brought with me. Let’s not even get into my tragic selection of hats.”

“Louisa.”

She ignores him and peers closer into the mirror, trying to decide if the silver strands could pass for blonde.

“Mrs. Durrells.” He gently pushes her dressing gown off her shoulder and kisses her bare skin.

A pleasant shiver runs through her. She abandons the mirror and turns around in his arms.

“We really don’t have time,” she says -- to flirt, mostly -- and plays with his top shirt button.

“We’ll make time,” he counters, caressing her. He does know how to make a grandmother feel like Aphrodite.

“Well, when you put it like that...” she says happily, undoing the buttons as she steers him toward the bed. He grapples with the sash of her dressing gown: no small struggle, since she’d triple knotted it in anxiety staring at the mirror.

The bed -- which hasn’t been the most stalwart even for sleeping purposes -- lets out a tragic creak as they sink onto it together. They freeze, meeting each other’s gazes and dissolving into laughter.

“Do you think it will survive?” Louisa muses.

“We can get them another bed,” Spiros suggests reasonably, and lets out a little noise of triumph as he vanquishes the dressing gown’s sash at last.

“They’ll understand.” Louisa continues to remove his clothes with the practiced efficiency that comes with living across the road from family members who pop in at all hours. “It  _ is _ technically our honeymoon. And if you haven’t broken a bed on your honeymoon -- especially your long-overdue honeymoon -- are you really honeymooning at all?”

“Exactly,” Spiros says with a grin, tangling his fingers in her hair. “I don’t want to sleep on this one anymore anyway. It’s not good for the back.”

“Then we’d best demolish it,” Louisa says with a conspiratorial smile. He laughs and pulls her closer, his hands warm and loving and sure as the sun.

+

They walk through the lobby awhile later, very respectably dressed, but flushed and looking slightly too cheerful for two o’clock in the afternoon.

Spiros tips his hat to the man at the front desk. He clears his throat and says, in the tone he always uses for negotiations he’s sure he’ll win, “If we were to ask for a replacement bed …”

“No,” interrupts the desk clerk.

Spiros frowns. “If we were to  _ buy _ you a replacement bed--”

“No,” says the desk clerk.

“Okay,” Spiros says, and keeps walking.

“Good afternoon,” Louisa adds with every bit of English dignity she’s ever possessed.

“It sounds like,” she hears the desk clerk mutter.

She feels a flash of gladness that the foremost side effect of getting older isn’t aching bones or graying hair or your body finding new creative ways every day to tell you ‘I’m giving up the ghost!’, but the pure satisfaction of not giving a damn.

“I think I understand how Aunt Hermione felt in her last days now,” Louisa says, stretching her arms out in exultation as they step into the sunshine. “Who can waste time being ashamed of perfectly natural pleasures when life is short and so full of deliciousness? What?” she adds off his amused smile.

“I love you wherever we are,” Spiros says, “but I’ve missed you in Corfu.”

Louisa beams and kisses him firmly.

“I always wanted to do that,” she says, smiling at his look of dazed fondness. “Right here in the middle of everything.”

“Me too,” he replies, stroking her cheek.

They get to the car to discover that somebody’s dog has climbed up into it and refuses to leave until they ply it with scraps of food they’ve begged off the nearest market stall, but that’s Corfu for you.


	4. Four

They arrive at Callista’s within an hour of the invitation, which Louisa recalls counting as on time by Corfu’s standards. Callista lives in a little cottage surrounded by shady trees, ample flowers, and a picturesque view of the sea. There are no less than four cats lounging in the sun on the front steps and around the patio. It reminds Louisa of the kind of place that Margo rhapsodizes about when she’s in one of her swearing-off-men phases.

Of course, Callista looks stunning: on her, nearly sixty is as flattering as anyone else’s mid-twenties. Her hair has gone entirely gray -- Spiros gives Louisa a significant nudge at the first sight of her -- but the long, wildly curly locks make her look like some kind of seductive fairy queen. It’s impossible not to feel a little underwhelming beside such a vision, though Louisa’s heartened by the fact that Spiros doesn’t react to Callista’s appearance any differently than he might Captain Creech’s. (Who certainly must be dead by now, but Louisa can’t shake the feeling that they’ll stumble into him when they least expect it.)

“Sorry we’re late,” Spiros says. “There was a … dog.”

“A really obstinate dog,” Louisa supplies.

Callista waves an unbothered hand. “You’re on time.” She laughs as she presses a hand to Spiros’s bearded cheek. “You are an old man.”

“Hey,” Spiros objects good-naturedly, “I have it on good authority that I’m very handsome.”

“I think the one who told you might be biased.”

“Me and Gerry, we’re in a beard-growing contest. I’m winning.”

“Gerry,” Callista repeats, remembering. “The animal genius. How is he?”

“Wonderful,” Louisa says, and can’t help a little proud parental glow. “He just got married last year to a lovely young woman, and he’s been doing some extraordinary work in zoos and on wildlife expeditions, which I’m sure is no surprise. He’s begun writing down some of his animal stories from Corfu. They’re quite funny, and his spelling’s certainly improved from when he was younger.”

“He doesn’t spell my accent right,” Spiros complains. “Too many S’s.”

“That’s true,” Louisa says. “He’s been a little inaccurate in his depiction of you in general. I think he’s playing down our relationship so as not to depict his mother as the wanton harlot of Corfu.”

“Now, there’s a title,” Spiros says. Louisa swats him on the shoulder.

“I’ll have to buy his books when they get here,” Callista says. “My nephews and niece are grown now, but they still sometimes talk about that visit.”

Louisa smiles. “I’ll let Gerry know. He’ll be so pleased.”

“And how is my Daphne in England?”

“Absolutely drowning in children, but very happy with Leslie.”

“Good. We miss her.”

“And she misses you all. They talked about making the trip with us, but then we all went on a family visit to the zoo and that stripped them of any illusions about traveling across Europe with so many children.”

“Well, I’m glad you made it, at least.” Callista kisses her cheek in belated greeting. “It’s good to see you again, Mrs. Durrell. Mrs. Halikiopoulos?”

“Technically we’ve gone with Durrell-Halikiopoulos,” Louisa says, “though nobody ever seems to know what to do with that at home.”

“I don’t think they would know what to do with it here either,” Callista replies fairly.

Louisa smiles at Spiros. “Neither of us could quite bear to get rid of ‘Durrell’ altogether.”

“You haven’t lived until you’ve seen a Brit trying to pronounce Halikiopoulos.” Spiros chuckles.

“More often than not, they just give up and call him Mr. Durrell,” Louisa adds.

“Does that bother you?” Callista asks Spiros, amused.

“Ah, how could it?” He puts an arm around Louisa’s shoulders. 

“I see,” says Callista, smiling. “You are one of those married couples who still likes to cuddle.”

“A little old, maybe, but not old-married,” Louisa protests. “It’s only been eight years.”

“Only,” Callista says, snorting.

“I’m hoping we’ll both live to a hundred and twenty,” Louisa says, “just to make sure we get our fair share of time.”

“No, no,” Spiros says. “One hundred and fifty, at least.”

+

Lunch is a spectacular spread, all of the Greek dishes that Louisa’s missed and tried to recreate in England on one table. The back patio where they dine is nothing short of paradise; a festival of colorful flowers hang on the surrounding trellises, doted upon by bees and butterflies. A dog naps underneath the table, only getting up briefly to investigate the newcomers before returning to its slumber. The beast seems unbothered to be so outnumbered by felines. Listening to its snores, Louisa feels a pang for dear old Roger.

In addition to all the food and flowers and canine company, there’s also a lot of very good wine.

The conversation flows easily, dipping into dark areas, but weaving easily out back into lighter times. Eventually, once they’ve gotten a thorough update on everyone and everything in Corfu, they land upon the only experience that Louisa and Callista ever actually shared.

“Nothing,” Callista says, “was so bad as having to tell my friends that Spiros Halikiopoulos picked an English lady over me.”

“Here’s a funny thing,” Louisa says, her tongue loosened by the wine. “We made it up.”

“Oh?” Callista lifts her finely shaped eyebrows.

“I wasn’t actually his girlfriend,” Louisa confesses. “I just found myself blurting it out without the faintest clue why.”

“Really?” Spiros asks, his eyes teasing. “Without the faintest clue?”

“Smugness isn’t a good look on anyone, darling. Even you.”

He laughs.

“But yes,” Louisa says to Callista, “I was fairly desperate for him.”

“The feeling,” Spiros says, taking her hand, “was mutual.”

Louisa smiles at her husband, throwing in one of those moony-eyed gazes that her children describe as Really Quite Excessive after years of marriage.

“I knew,” Callista says.

“What?” Louisa abandons the moony eyes.

“I knew you were pretending.”

“How?”

“You were awful at it.”

Louisa bristles slightly. “I don’t think we were  _ awful  _ at it.”

“I saw more chemistry between my nephew and the pelican.”

“Well, that’s a bit harsh,” Louisa says, trying not to look as offended as she is.

“What?” Spiros asks meanwhile, stuck on the pelican.

“My nephew,” Callista says, “kept trying to lick the pelican.”

“Who forgets a sight like that?” says Louisa (who, to be fair, had forgotten about it until this moment). “It’s haunted me for years.”

“Like your attempt at seeming like lovers has haunted me,” jests Callista, filling each of their glasses again.

“But you weren’t surprised that we married afterwards?” Spiros asks.

“Not at all.” Callista leans forward with a scientific lilt to her voice, reminding Louisa of Theo. “You were so bad at pretending to be together that you must have been in love and apart. There was no other explanation. See, I could tell back then that you had never made love. It was very obvious. Now, I can tell you have made love today.”

Spiros chokes on his sip of wine. “That’s very personal,” he sputters.

“Accurate,” Louisa can’t resist adding as she pats him on the back, “but very personal all the same.”

Callista gives her an approving smirk.

+

“Is it sad that I’m a little hurt?” Louisa says as they wave goodbye and set off in the car.

“No, I understand,” Spiros says. “I am too. I always thought we were brilliant actors back then. Pudding head.”

She glares at him with absolutely no bite. “You forgot Uncle Geoffrey’s eightieth birthday party, but not that?”

“Never that.”

“Splendid.”

“And I only forgot because I was helping Margo fix the kitchen sink in her boarding house.”

“I know. I try to bicker like everyone thinks we ought to at this stage of marriage, but you’re very hard to henpeck.”

“You are, too.” He lifts her hand to his lips, then lets go to turn the steering wheel.

She smiles, enjoying the old sensation of riding alongside him again. It’s true that English roads don’t provide the same sense of adventure. “Can you believe we ever did something as silly as pretend to be a couple so you didn’t have to callously reject your old paramour?”

Spiros considers it. “Yes.”

“So can I,” Louisa agrees, laughing.

They drive on in quiet for a bit, drinking in the much-missed beauty of their surroundings. The sky glows with the rich pinks and purples of the sunset.

“I kissed you then,” Spiros says. His voice is sweet with memory.

“You did,” she says, smiling.

“I swore to myself that would be the only time. Just once, just to know what it was like, and then I would get my senses back.”

“You failed,” Louisa tells him, “quite spectacularly.”

He nods, playfully grim. “I did.”

“Thank goodness.”

He gives her a crooked smile, and underneath the little changes the years have made to his face, she sees the man whose presence had lit up her new paradise as much as the sunshine. For a second, she’s immersed in how it felt once: the world bright and wild all around her, coming to new life. Her heart waking up along with it.

They drive until they reach their old favorite spot. The cliffside still offers the same stunning vista. Right here it’s as if no time at all has passed. As if they never spent a day apart.

Louisa climbs out of the car to better revel in the sight of the water. The seaside in Bournemouth is beautiful, too, in a more brooding way; she had returned home with new eyes, made keener by Corfu life, and so it had become easy to find wonder where she hadn’t before. Seaside walks have become one of their favorite pastimes.

But there’s nothing like this magical, endless stretch of blue, turned richer by the colors of the sunset. The closest thing to heaven she’s ever seen. It’s only right, then, that she’s always shared this place with him.

“Can you believe it?” she breathes.

“Beautiful.” She turns to find Spiros watching her.

“Oh, now,” Louisa scolds, not meaning a word of it, “anyone would say we’re far too old and too married for you to be that dashing.”

“I don’t think so,” he says, the same warmth in his voice that has always set her heart singing, and pulls her into his arms.

“Good,” she says just before she kisses him, “me neither.”


	5. Five

They don’t go back to the villa, even though it’s still standing: one of her prayers that came true during the war. It seemed foolish, praying for a place when there were so many people to fear for, but she hadn’t been able to help it, and now she’s glad of that.

Someone else lives in it, of course, and even though she doesn’t doubt they would be invited in if they asked, she knows that her heart will break if she stands in that house without being able to call it home again.

Instead, on the last day of their visit, they park the car and walk partway down the road, stopping once the villa comes into view through the trees. The sea twinkles at them beyond it.

For awhile, they just stare in silence.

“It looks so bare without all the animals,” Louisa says at last, the words fighting past the lump in her throat.

“I wonder if they ever came back,” Spiros says, “looking for Gerry. Wondering, ‘What happened to that boy who was so good to us?’”

Louisa tries to blink back her tears. “I can still see the children. The way they were, back when they were still so young and seemed so grown up and immature.” Spiros laughs softly. “Margo over there getting sunburnt to a crisp, and Larry leaning out that window, shouting at us about how he was so literary and important.” She sniffles. “Leslie tromping around with his stupid guns, and Gerry trying to smuggle new animals in without me noticing.”

“And inside the house,” Spiros says, his voice full of the same bittersweet gladness. “All the parties and guests.”

“And the occasional seance.”

“Baking together in the kitchen.”

“Feeding strawberries to Achilles the tortoise.”

“The night you came in wearing that green dress, and I knew I was in trouble.”

“Really?” Louisa turns her watery eyes to him. “I wasn’t even paying attention to you yet. I was still trying to land Sven.”

Spiros shrugs. “It was a good dress.”

“It was, wasn’t it?” Laughing a little, she considers the landscape. “You almost kissed me against that tree. But then we were interrupted. Again.”

“I remember.” He reaches for her hand, and she takes his gladly.

“The joy I used to feel,” she says with a shaky sigh, “looking out the window to see your car. Hearing that silly horn.”

“I felt it too,” he says, “knowing I would see you soon. I love all the roads on this island. But this was always my favorite drive.”

She smiles and gazes at her old home. “Do you think they’re as happy as we all were? Whoever lives there now?”

“Impossible,” he says. “But let’s hope they know how lucky they are. It’s an enchanted house, I think.”

“I certainly wouldn’t have made up a story about being your ladylove anywhere else,” she says, making him smile. “There’s magic in the air here. Or madness.”

“Maybe those things aren’t so different.”

“Whatever it is,” Louisa says, casting one last loving look at the villa, “I hope we take a little of it home with us.”

“We will,” he promises.

She leans into him, and he wraps his arm around her shoulders. They walk back to the car in no rush, savoring the enchanted air.


End file.
